When I tell people that I have been living for 3 years without a loved one and had already felt like the loss had happened long ago within the first year, they ask me whether I did not have a good relationship with my loved one: "Do you not miss them?"
I wondered where that assumption, or rather projection, comes from. I find it interesting to explore the difference between my inner life (the intensity of the love says nothing about the intensity of grief) and the projection of others.
Or better said: the intensity of my love does not have to be shown through the common outer appearances of grief as depicted in this culture (darkness, crying, isolating).
Grief is an ambiguous, non-isolated phenomenon
I acknowledge that I am different from many people and stereotypes; I have never gone through how others picture grief. I have never isolated myself, I have not been crying in a dark corner after the loss. I am not, nor have been trapped in bereavement. I do not view loss as an isolated phenomenon; not as something that occurs with death and slowly fades within a sense of time.
The multifaceted face and ambiguous facets of grief may be uncomfortable. The simplistic yet popular view may be that the bereaved one should visibly suffer, more so within the first months and if not, the depth of love and attachment are questioned. According to the social script of the Western region, one should suffer the first months or year and make a return to society with newly gained strength: "What does not kill you, makes you stronger".
Rejecting the state of closure after loss: there is no "Growth through suffering"
I have been the same before and after loss, nothing has ever changed who I am. In my view of the universe, loss is not something that needs to be parted with and grief is not to be buried. I reject the idea of seeing loss as a problematic concept from which one should recover to reach a state of closure. I reject the concept of "Growth through suffering".
Before their death, I had arrived at continuing bonds. I had already integrated the loss of life into my life before death occurred. There is no detachment; the life of my loved one is integrated into my life.
To be clear, death is not loss in itself. The circumstances surrounding death give loss a highly contextual meaning. Seeing a loved one suffer or witnessing them losing their independence is a loss that is (sadly) hardly viewed as bereavement while it is the main event of mourning.
The scripted security in "You have to move on"; living is not a conscious act of progress. People do not actually progress, but get to realize the full scope of life
To me, life is not inherently of value after loss. I hold this view that people do not actually move on, but act subconsciously or even unconsciously and reason toward the act of deliberate progress. I feel that the progression people talk about ("You have to move on") is a void truism and not more than what they like to believe.
Overall, I view humans as individuals who like to believe that living is a conscious act of progress, when random phenomena are underestimated.
To me, the "Moving on" perspective is a performative act that individuals use to make their reality a predictable concept. People do not move on; they keep an internal relationship with their loved ones (or even non-loved ones, as complicated relationships are highly disruptive and may lead to fragmented grief). Moving on is a social construct, a script, rather than a psychological reality. People integrate losses (not solely death-related, but also the loss of friendships, a love life and occupations) into life over reaching full closure.
In the days after loss, I scared a few people off by redirecting the statement that "One should move on". They were uncomfortable with my questioning. I believe that I confronted their sense of (scripted) security, their shielding against the inconvenient reality.
It all made sense when I realized that I was born an existentialist.
People have told me they found my depth of thought surprisingly complex, as I am outgoing in nature and live by the definition of interaction.
Outgoing existentialism. That is not a paradox. Introverted existentialism would be the tabletop or quiet version of viewing life as opposed to mingling. A highly theoretical view. In reality, it is about one's energy. Being an existentialist does not exclude my personal energy and openness.
Existentialism may sound depressive: being convinced that humans have actually very little control of life events contrasts this popular sense of agency over life that people like to entertain. To be clear: I do not reject the idea of accountability. I reject the idea that we can change any outcome for the better by adopting a mindset and the ideas that human brains are highly mallable by doing so.
Existentialism is not the same as anhedonia, either; I have never lost interest in everything and everyone.
From a young age, I have always been confused about why people tend to find a career, an estate and the obligatory holidays the factors of their success in life. I believed everyone played a role and have at times even felt isolated/lonely because of that- I could not envision how that was the epitome of living.
I found out that I am different in that I reject the idea, the entire framework of control and life as a predictable act of progression in a reality of randomness. I have always had this detachment of performative, normative expectations that people entertain to have a sense of control on existence, as opposed to freedom.
That does not mean that I am an actual outsider; I can relate to many people I meet. I am not complex or dramatic in friendships; I appreciate company and openly share my emotions. Maybe not-so-surprisingly, my friends have never bothered me with cliché, toxic positivity, not with the truism that one should move on, nor with assumptions. In their presence, I don't feel that kind of existential loneliness that I have had for a long time.
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